Memories, The Best of Presents

I loved Christmas as a little girl. Not (only) because I got presents. But my family had some neat traditions and every year I looked forward to them.

My younger sister and I would help Grams bake cookies every year. This ritual began in early December so that she could pack them up into cute little packages then give them to her best friends, the Bridge club, and her golfing buddies. There were always just enough left to keep in the pretty Christmas tin that sat on the table next to Grampa's chair.

Then there was the annual Smith Family Christmas Tree Hunting Trip. We'd get permits to cut down 4 trees in the deep forest near Mount Lassen. With our 4x4 vehicles, my aunt, uncle and cousins, my whole family, and Grams and Grampa would convoy up to the snow line. When the time was right, we'd turn down an unpaved snow-covered logging road. Our noses pressed to the car windows, "there's a pretty one!" we'd yell hoping we'd stop to take that tree home. But my dad, he was an explorer, would drive deeper into the woods to find the perfect spot. Once found, we'd stop our vehicles, pull on our snow boots, bundle up and start our search. I always remember how peaceful and quiet it was way up on that mountain. Only the wind's voice could be heard as it passed through the pine needles on the tall swaying trees. I'd close my eyes and take in natures silence, wondering what it would be like to sit at the top of the trees, feeling the sun's warm rays on my face. I miss those days.

The night time street fair in Nevada City, I walked around holding hot cocoa just to stay warm. Men in tall black top hats played my favorite Christmas song on their hammered dulcimers. I stood reverently next to strangers as we gathered around the gifted musicians. No words, just the beauty of their talent created the most captivating arrangement of "What Child is This." The sweet and mysterious notes radiated from their tandem stringed instruments brought swollen tears to my eyes. I will never forget that beautifully cold evening.

Christmas, it's so much more than just presents. What wonderful holiday memories am I providing for my boys? What will they look back and remember when they are married and have children of their own?

Memories last, presents do not. Memories are stories and must be told, that keeps them alive.
Merry Christmas ~ this season, may you and yours be amazing creators of lovely and lasting memories, the priceless gift.

I Don't Understand

I don’t understand how You
Sit with me, the ugly me
When my doubts are high
And trust runs low

I don’t understand how You
Walk with me, unmotivated me
As I wander aimlessly about my day
questioning why was I created

I don’t understand how You
Love me, loveless little me
With my cold heart of stone
Pushing everyone far away

I don’t understand how You
Say “you are beautifully mine”
Don’t You see who I am?
The darkness in my soul?

I don’t understand how You
Forgive me, every last thing
Even as a repeat offender
You amazingly forgive
I don’t understand…

I don’t understand how You
Can use me for good when
I feel everything is awful
Useless, dangerous, empty

I don’t understand how You
The loving Creator of the universe
Cares about me, one of billions.
You know my name
You see each tear I cry
And there have been a lot lately

I don’t understand how You
Constantly reach out to me
With Your endless love
Gently handling my wounded soul
Nursing it back to health
Breathing new life into me
Giving me chance after chance

I just don’t understand…
But, I can’t thank You enough.